The Hobbit and LOTR Imagines

Kingdom Come (Faramir x Reader)

This imagine was requested by wife_of_food . Imagine that you're the princess of a rather bothersome people, and to make peace, you are promised to a certain Lord of Gondor...

A thunderstorm booms in the distance, and the shadows are closing in. The minutes become more and more tense as the hour you dread draws nigh.

Familiar faces surround you, the flames from the hearth reflecting off their tight and unbothered skin. Indifferent, and certainly unapologetic. That fine dress made with the skilled hands of your people squeezes the breath from your lungs, and the pit in in your stomach is unrelenting.

You look to your mothers face, the worried wrinkles there more pronounced than usual. That lovely looking face once held comfort for you, a refuge from the dark corners that lurked everywhere.

Now it only held contempt, and relief for a fate that was not befalling it.

Now turning, you looked at your father. The King.

Oh that gallant and corrupt figurehead. Toppling lesser kingdoms and spitting in the face of all who stood in his way. You smirked grimly and thought: Let us see him try this in the face of the mighty nation that towers above us. He could no longer have his way. That belligerent fool, now begged for peace.

As if from a dream, far off trumpets sounded. They had arrived.

One.

Everyone stands. The king straightens his crown, and the queen her frock.

Two

Men's voices sound from down the stone hall. They approach quickly. Take a deep breath, and do not let them see the fear in your eyes.

Three

They are at the door now, and there is no escape. No bed, no mountain, and no arms to hide in. Upon their entering, your freedom is exiting. The game is done, and the cup which you have been handed is now poised at your lips. Say goodbye.

The doors swing open and the court speaker announces: "Now presenting before his highness, Denethor Guardian of Gondor, and his son Faramir, Lord of Gondor."

Entering with great poise, an older man with long gray hair and long black royal robes stands beside a younger man, with medium rust colored hair and in princely livery of Gondor.

The elder, presumably Denethor, stands before your father while the younger hangs back. Denethor does not bow, but waits sternly for your father to do so. And after a few uncomfortable beats pass, he does. Begrudgingly, though.

"Lord Denethor, lord Faramir, it is rather gracious of you to bless us with this visit," your father utters, "I trust the terms we worked out are agreeable?"

He stares for a few seconds before replying.

"It was only upon my sons insistence that we came here ourselves. Otherwise, we'd be in my hall right now," Denethor corrected him,  "but I must agree the terms will be... fairly suitable enough."

Your father swallows nervously and your mother gestures to the seats that sit opposite of your small family.

"Please, you must be weary from your journey. Take a seat, and a fine supper will be spread out for us," she suggested, a slight shake in her voice.

The chairs are pulled out for them by attendants and supper is indeed laid out. Ham, chicken, and fish with all sorts of trappings and desserts. Everyone waits tentatively for Denethor to start eating, and after he does the rest of you join in. Glancing at your fathers face, you can see how much the older mans deference to him irks his proud attitude.